


My Heart Hath Its Love [Remix]

by Zdenka



Category: Den lille Havfrue | The Little Mermaid - Hans Christian Andersen
Genre: F/F, Hopeful Ending, Mermaids, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-09-30 12:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20447225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/pseuds/Zdenka
Summary: A princess is saved from drowning by someone she cannot quite remember. Later, she meets a strange mute girl who she cannot forget.





	My Heart Hath Its Love [Remix]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aquatics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquatics/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Submersion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18561193) by [Aquatics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquatics/pseuds/Aquatics). 

> This is a remix based on the lovely artwork linked above. Title from a [poem](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sea-hath-its-pearls-from-the-german-of-heinrich-heine/) by Heinrich Heine, as translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: "The sea hath its pearls, / The heaven hath its stars; / But my heart, my heart, / My heart hath its love."

Dagmar awoke to the ship shaking around her. She blinked, slowly coming out of sleep. In her dreams, she had heard singing, the unearthly beautiful voices of women joined together in strange and wild harmonies. For a moment she thought she heard it still, but it was drowned out in the crashing of the waves, the creaking of the ship’s timbers, the sailors’ panicked shouts from the deck.

Her maid Sophie was huddled on the bunk opposite. She looked up when Dagmar stirred. “You slept very soundly, your highness.”

The music . . . she hadn’t wanted to let it go, staying submerged in sleep as in warm water. Dagmar shook her head, dispelling the last of her dream. “Help me to dress.” There was nothing she could do about the storm, but she wanted to be prepared.

Sophie was fastening the last button on Dagmar’s red jacket when there was a loud banging on the cabin door. “Your highness! Get out, the ship is sinking.”

Dagmar’s indignant protest died on her lips. The sailor was gone before she could ask any questions; she heard his warning shouts echoing along the corridor. Dagmar grabbed Sophie’s hand and dragged her up to the deck.

Rain was pouring down, and the deck was awash in water; Dagmar staggered as a knee-high wave splashed against her. The ship tilted abruptly; Sophie’s hand slipped from hers, and Dagmar was stumbling and slipping, reaching vainly for something to steady herself. She caught herself against the railing. Dark waves yawned below her.

The ship gave another sharp jerk. Her feet slipped on the wet deck, and then she was spinning, tumbling through the air. She hit the water, a shock of sudden cold and wet.

Dagmar clawed her way to the surface and paddled frantically, trying to stay afloat. The waves tossed her up and down until she felt dizzy. She could barely see a foot in front of her; the sky above was dark with clouds, with only a few scattered glimpses of moonlight.

Something splashed near her; a blue-silver tail like a huge fish. Not a shark, she desperately hoped. And—surely her eyes must be playing tricks—pale skin in a ray of moonlight, a naked shoulder and arm, a flash of a woman’s face before it vanished beneath the surface.

She swallowed water, coughing. She was quickly becoming weary, struggling against the waves’ battering. The falling rain made it seem like the entire world was made of water; she barely noticed when she slipped beneath the surface. She thought she felt a hand brush against her cheek, and then darkness overtook her.

When Dagmar came back to herself, it was daylight. She was half-reclining in the sand. Her sodden garments, heavy with water, clung unpleasantly to her skin. But her back was warm; she was embraced by a pair of arms, held against a woman’s soft chest. A voice was singing sweetly and softly in her ear, the words in no language she knew.

Dagmar slowly opened her eyes. From her position, she could only see the pair of naked arms that held her, and strands of wet golden hair falling over her shoulder among her own brown locks. She remained completely still, not wanting to break the enchantment.

She could not say how much time passed before she felt vibrations in the sand, the rhythm of many footsteps. An unfamiliar voice called, “This way, try looking over here.” The singing stopped abruptly. The arms that had held her slid away.

“Wait,” she tried to say. Her voice was hoarse from coughing out salt water. She was lowered gently down onto the sand. She heard a splash and then there was nothing; she was alone. Her fingers clenched in the sand, but she was too weak to move.

“Your highness!”

“Over here, it’s the princess!”

She was surrounded, lifted and placed in a litter. Darkness was hovering at the edge of her vision, and she let it sweep over her. But she knew she would never forget the voice that sang to her.

~~~

People thought it strange that, after the shipwreck, Dagmar insisted on taking her daily walks by the sea instead of the palace gardens. Her youngest sister asked her, “But aren’t you glad to have escaped safely?”

Her brother the prince asked, “Are you challenging the Sea King, since you have come alive from his domain?”

Dagmar laughed and shook her head. “It is nothing like that.” Truthfully, she could not say herself what drew her to the seashore. Something that she could not quite remember tugged at her mind. She told herself it was only her whim, and she might as well walk there as elsewhere. Surely it would be too foolish to keep seeking a half-forgotten song from a dream?

It was a few months afterwards when Dagmar was walking by the seashore with her maids. It was a fine day; the sky was very blue, and the waves sparkled with dancing light. Shielding her eyes with her hand, Dagmar caught sight of something—a crumpled human form, lying curled on the sand along the tideline. She picked up her skirts and ran over, though a princess was not supposed to run. She immediately sent one of her maids to the palace for help and lifted the person’s head.

It was a girl who seemed close to her own age, naked, her golden hair wet and dripping from the sea. As Dagmar raised her, the girl opened her eyes. They were very blue. Dagmar caught her breath with a sudden shock of recognition.

But no, she did not know this girl. She had never seen her before, she was certain. Yet the girl was smiling at her, her eyes alight with joy. She took Dagmar’s hand in her own and pressed it to her cheek.

“Do I know you?” Dagmar asked slowly. The girl hesitated, then shook her head. “Then what is your name? Where do you come from?”

The girl opened her lips and tried to speak. No sound came out. She touched her throat and shook her head.

“You can’t speak?”

The girl shook her head. She was shivering.

Dagmar took off her own cloak and wrapped it closely around her. “Don’t be afraid,” she said firmly. “I am Dagmar, and my father is the king of this country. You will be safe here. But do you have friends or family who are looking for you?”

Again the girl hesitated and shook her head. She sat up, not heeding how the cloak fell from her graceful shoulders to reveal her breast. Dagmar swallowed and tried not to look; the girl was very beautiful.

The girl gripped Dagmar’s hand again, looking at her pleadingly, and gestured to her.

“You want to stay with me?” The girl nodded frantically.

Dagmar smiled. “So be it,” she said. “You will stay with me in the palace until you are well. But I must call you something! Since I found you by the sea, I will call you Marina. Does that name please you?”

The girl considered for a moment, then nodded.

By then the servants had arrived from the palace with a litter. They carried Marina back and treated her kindly, and it was only a few days before she was feeling well enough to leave her bed. But she showed by signs that she did not wish to leave Dagmar’s side. The princess, who already felt a strong affection for her, quickly agreed, and Marina kept her company night and day.

To her surprise, Dagmar found that Marina could not read or write. Even the quill pen and ink seemed unfamiliar to her. Dagmar set it upon herself to teach her, and Marina learned quickly. Dagmar found it more distracting than she would like to admit to sit with their heads close together, so that Marina’s hair sometimes tickled her face, and guide her hand on the quill.

Once Marina could write, Dagmar tried once again to ask her questions about her name, her family, and where she came from. She learned from what Marina wrote that she was the youngest of six sisters, that her mother was dead, but that she had a father who was kind and an old grandmother who told her stories. When Dagmar asked if her family would not miss her and be worried about her, Marina only sighed and set down her pen, refusing to answer.

But Dagmar could not truly be angry with her, when Marina seemed so delighted by everything she saw. She devoured books of stories from the castle library, or sometimes she drew the most marvelous pictures: castles with their walls made of shells, gardens with flame-bright flowers and blue sand, weeping willow trees with fish swimming among the branches.

The princess loved music dearly, and at times some of her ladies would play the harp and flute and other instruments, while the others sang or danced together to their accompaniment. Dagmar liked best to dance with Marina, who was the most light-footed and graceful and whose hand seemed to fit the best in hers, but she tried not to show too marked a preference so as not to insult the others.

Matters went along in this way until ambassadors arrived from the neighboring kingdom. They came to ask for the hand of Dagmar, who was the eldest princess, for their own king’s son. When Marina became aware of it, she seemed very distressed. She seized a pen and wrote anxiously, _Do you love him?_

Dagmar sighed. “No, how could I love him? I have never even seen him, except for an official portrait that is probably flattering. He cannot be in love with me either. If he were not marrying me, he might just as well marry one of my younger sisters. But it is necessary, to preserve peace and strengthen the ties between our two kingdoms. They say he is a promising young man! We both know our duty, and I daresay we shall get along well enough.”

Marina turned her face away. After a moment, she dropped her pen and ran out of the room. She did not reappear for several hours, but then she seemed as cheerful as ever, and Dagmar thought no more of it.

Dagmar dutifully went through all the necessary preparations, being fitted for gowns and selecting presents and agreeing to this or that. She stood in the church beside the chief ambassador, who was a nobleman of his country, and let him place a ring on her finger to signify that she was betrothed to the prince. It felt very strange to her to wear it, and she often found herself twisting the ring on her finger as if it didn’t quite fit right.

At last the day arrived for Dagmar to board the ship that would carry her to her wedding. She embraced her parents and her brother the prince and her two younger sisters. She did not have to bid farewell to Marina. Among all the preparations, the only thing Dagmar had insisted on was that Marina accompany her, since Dagmar could not bear to part with her. Even once they set sail, Dagmar wished to keep Marina close to her, and she had her sleep in a smaller bed in her own cabin. As the days and the nights passed and the ship sailed closer to its destination, it seemed to Dagmar that Marina become more and more sad. But when Dagmar asked her, she only shook her head and would reveal nothing.

Dagmar could not say what woke her that night. She had confused dreams in which a group of women’s voices were singing all together, the harmonies strange and beautiful, but also yearning and full of sadness. Even when she opened her eyes to the darkness of her cabin, the memory of the song seemed to tug at her, drawing her towards the sea.

She looked automatically for Marina, but her bed was empty, the covers thrown back. Dagmar felt restless and strangely uneasy at her absence. She dressed quickly and went barefoot up to the deck.

Marina was seated alone on the wooden boards, her legs curled under her and her head bowed. Dagmar didn’t intend to sneak up on her, but the faint sound of her bare feet on the deck was drowned out by the creaking of the ropes and the splash of the waves. She came close enough to greet her and was about to speak, but she saw then that Marina held a knife in her hand. As Dagmar watched, Marina caressed the blade, and tears glimmered on her cheeks in the moonlight.

Dagmar cried out her name and practically threw herself across the deck to her. Marina started and raised her empty hand as if she would ward her off, but Dagmar seized her wrist and pulled the knife from her grasp. She flung it away across the deck.

Dagmar was gasping for breath, her heart beating fast with the fright. For a moment, when Marina raised the knife, it had looked as if she— Marina was looking up at her, her expression vulnerable and uncertain. Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks.

Dagmar dropped to her knees and pulled Marina into her arms. Marina caught her breath. At first it seemed she would pull away, but then she gave a quiet sigh and went limp and pliant in Dagmar’s arms, resting her head on Dagmar’s shoulder.

Dagmar held her tightly. For a few moments she could not speak; she only caressed Marina and stroked her golden hair. “Marina,” she said once her throat was not too choked with dread. “Whatever sorrow torments you, let me share it! I could not bear to lose you.”

Marina hesitantly raised her head. Her lips parted as if she would speak. But she only shook her head and pressed her face to Dagmar’s shoulder again, embracing her tightly.

“Marina,” Dagmar said again. “Dearest one. Will you not tell me what makes you sad?”

Marina sat up and pulled away a little. She grasped Dagmar’s left hand and gently touched the ring that marked her betrothal to the foreign prince.

“You are sad because I am to be married?”

Marina nodded.

“Even if I promise that you will always stay with me? That I will always keep you by my side and never send you away?”

Marina shook her head desperately. She pointed again at the ring.

Dagmar gently tucked Marina’s hair back behind her ears. She gazed for a long moment at Marina’s tear-stained face. Then she swiftly pulled the ring off her finger and flung it from her, throwing it over the side of the ship into the sea. Marina’s eyes widened.

Dagmar raised her right hand to heaven. “Listen to me, Marina. I swear to you now that I will never belong to anyone else. I love you, and I will only be yours for as long as I live.” She caught Marina’s hand in hers and raised it to her lips.

Marina’s face lit up with dawning hope, and her smile was radiant. She flung herself at Dagmar, wrapping her arms around her, and pressed her mouth to Dagmar’s in a sweet kiss.

Dagmar reached out to hold Marina in turn, but something like a whirlwind or a great wave spun her around and tore Marina away from her. When her vision cleared, Marina was lying on the deck beside her—but instead of legs, she had a tail that shone with scales of blue and silver. She wore a look of surprise and delight, touching her tail as if she could hardly believe it was there.

Dagmar sat up again slowly, catching her breath. There was no doubt: this was Marina as she was, as she was always meant to be. “It was you,” she said softly, “wasn’t it? You were the one who saved me when my ship went down.”

Marina raised blue eyes to her and nodded solemnly.

“But now—” Dagmar shook her head to clear it. “Marina, what now?”

Marina took Dagmar’s hand and pointed joyfully at the sea.

“Those things you drew—they are real? Under the waves, it really is like that?” Marina nodded again. She looked as if she was desperate to speak, but no sound escaped her lips. “But I am a human woman, my love. If I go with you, will I not drown?”

Marina shook her head frantically. She tugged at Dagmar’s hand again, her eyes pleading.

Dagmar could not help hesitating. She remembered tales she had heard of the river-haunting Lorelei or sirens that sang in a bewitchingly sweet voice to lure sailors to their doom. But then—if Marina wanted to harm her, she could have done so many times before. She swallowed. “Then I will go with you,” she said unsteadily, “come what may.” She bent and carefully lifted Marina in her arms, and walked to the side of the ship.

Marina did not wait, but eagerly wiggled out of her grasp and plunged into the water. Dagmar gasped, but a moment later she saw the flick of a blue-silver tail break the surface, and then Marina’s head popped up above the waves. She held out her hands.

Dagmar jumped.

She hit the water with a splash, and then she was sinking into the cold waves. The water was dark around her, save for a faint glimmer from the surface above her. She couldn’t help a faint stirring of dread: the ship would glide on without her, and when she came to the surface, Marina would be gone, and she would be alone in the vast ocean.

But Marina had promised, even without words. She remembered Marina’s devotion, Marina’s tears. She kicked with her feet and swam upward toward the surface. And then a hand grasped hers, an arm wrapped around her waist, and she was drawn upwards, propelled by the flicks of a powerful tail behind her.

They broke the surface of the water. Marina swam around in front of her, though she still held Dagmar’s hand. She had shed her hairpins, as well as all her clothing save a band around her breasts; her loose wet hair fell down about her shoulders in wild disarray. She was smiling, and looked happier than Dagmar had ever seen her.

“It seems my sister was right to trust you,” said a woman’s voice from behind her. Her voice was sweet, strangely melodious, but there was danger in it as well.

Dagmar turned. Another mermaid floated in the water, moving effortlessly among the waves. Her tail had a greenish sheen rather than Marina’s blue; a pearl coronet rested on her brow, and her golden hair was cropped close to her head.

“I never thought to find truth and good faith in humans,” the mermaid said. “All of us thought the same, and we grieved for our sister who must die for love of a human woman. But you have pledged your faith to her, and now you have put your life in our hands.” She smiled, and Dagmar could see the glint of sharp teeth.

Marina looked at her pleadingly and shook her head. She twined her tail around Dagmar protectively.

Her sister sighed. “We made two bargains with the sea witch,” she said, “not only one.” She opened her hands to reveal a small glass bottle. “Drink this, and you will be as we are. But take care, for if you drink, you can never go back to the land.”

“I have plighted my faith to your sister,” Dagmar said firmly. “I swore to her that I would remain by her side forever. If the realm below the sea is her home, it will be mine also. Give me the potion!”

“Take off those skirts first,” the mermaid said with a look of disdain. “They will only get in the way of your swimming.”

Indeed, her garments were weighing her down as they soaked up water. Treading water with her legs, Dagmar unfastened her human garments and let them go, one by one. Then she held out her hand for the glass bottle.

The mermaid gave it to her in silence. Dagmar undid the stopper and raised the bottle to her lips. It smelled odd, of salt water and blood. She tilted her head back and drained it in a single draught.

A cool grey mist settled around her, clinging stickily to her skin. And then it was sinking into her, burning her, tearing apart her flesh and bones. Dagmar screamed.

After a long, long while, it was over. Dagmar was weak and shaking. She drew in a long breath. She realized too late that her head had sunk below the water in her struggles. But she felt no choking sensation; water glided in and out of her lungs with each breath, familiar as if it had always been there. Wondering, she raised a hand to her neck and felt the gentle fluttering of gills. She looked down, and instead of legs, she had a tail with scales of pale gold.

A hand touched her bare shoulder; it was Marina, who was looking at her anxiously. “I’m all right,” she said, and wondered again to hear her voice travel through the water.

“Come!” Marina’s sister said. “We must return to our father’s palace to give him the good news.” Dagmar turned her head to see that another mermaid had risen from the deep to join her, then a third. In all, five darting forms sped lithely through the water; the sixth was Marina, who held her tightly by the hand.

Marina tugged at Dagmar’s hand to lead her downward. “Wait,” Dagmar said, and hesitated. “Marina—what is your name?”

Marina smiled at her. _Marina,_ she traced on Dagmar’s palm. _You gave me._ And then she traced the letters of another name, wild and strange and altogether fitting. Dagmar whispered it back to her, and Marina kissed the name from her lips. She took Dagmar’s hand again, and Dagmar let herself be drawn downwards, into the deep.

~~~

In a palace below the waves there dwell two princesses: one born of the sea, and one who once belonged to the land. They swim together to the ocean’s surface or wander through the royal gardens with lazy flicks of their tail-fins, and when night falls they retire to their own chambers. Then, when they wish, they drift in the water, held in each other’s embrace. They float with skin pressed to skin, their tails twined together; their gill slits flutter while their mouths are busy with kisses, and they never run out of air. They know what they have sacrificed, but they do not regret it, and they are happy.


End file.
